


Sway me more

by AxisMage



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Dancing, Did I already say genderbend?, F/F, Fem!Dick Grayson - Freeform, Fluff, Genderbend, Genderbending, Jason Todd-centric, Light-Hearted, Linebreaks, Sort Of, fem!Jason Todd - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 03:34:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17675684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AxisMage/pseuds/AxisMage
Summary: From the moment she joined the volleyball team she strived for perfection. She worked hard to be perfect. When her career ends before she starts, she has nothing left to pursue. That is, until the night she decides to stop ignoring the music blasting from the studio across the station.





	Sway me more

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LorelainMichaelis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LorelainMichaelis/gifts).



> This is a sort of Shall we dance AU because... well, because I love dancing movies so much and I´ve always wanted to do an AU about this one
> 
> Genderbender. Don´t burn me please. This is the second thingie for the prompts I got on tumblr XD
> 
> Massive thanks to my darling Lorelain for betaing this fic even though it was a gift for her <3\. All mistakes that remain are mine and mine alone.

**_“I don’t want you to stop”_ **

* * *

 

As it turned out, her middle and high school teachers had been right. When younger, she had scoffed at their usual reminder of ‘practice makes perfect’ because at the time, no matter how much she tried and practiced, she never achieved perfection. She´d played in the volleyball team from sixth to twelfth grade, albeit not in the first string until her sophomore year in high school. She hadn’t been good enough until then, and even after she´d made the cut, she´d struggled to keep her spot on the team. There had always been people who were better than her. There had always been girls taller, quicker, nimbler than her. She had poured her literal tears and blood into her volleyball high school career, and she´d barely managed to survive.

Every single month – every single week – her few friends and the three teachers she didn’t hate would tell her the same thing. It was a matter of practice! There was no secret or shortcut to perfection. She was an awesome player already, but she hadn’t been perfect.

_“No one is perfect.”_

_“It´s impossible to be perfect.”_

_“Being perfect is impossible, but honing your skills until you master your area of choosing to near perfection is more than possible.”_

Her adoptive father had said the last bit, much to her surprise. It hadn’t been a soft or gentle piece of advice. He hadn’t said it to make her feel better. He had said it to her for the same reason he said it to himself: to encourage her to keep going. Sure, Bruce had been harsh, and at the time she hadn’t taken it well. It had taken her years to understand what he´d meant. The realization hadn’t come with her earning a volleyball scholarship to Metropolis University, or with the four years she spent balancing her career in sports and her academic life, oh no. To her irony and somewhat dark sense of humor, the full meaning of Bruce´s words came to her three years after her injury and her master’s degree in Literature and Culture. The realization had come in the shape of a too-optimistic-to-be-real dance teacher going by the name of Rachel “call me Dixie” Grayson.

 

* * *

 

 

_At the rate she was going, her routine was going to kill her in the next three or four months. This was a conclusion and deadline she had drawn on her own. She suspected no one else even breathed a word because from the outside, everything was all right. She had a home. She had a well-paying job. She had friends she went out with every once in a while. What on Earth could be wrong?_

_For starters, her shoulder was wrong. Broken. Useless. Granted, the surgery had been years ago, she´d gone to rehab, the scar tissue wasn’t even obtrusive, but to her, her arm remained broken. Her rotator cuff tear had been one of the worst the doctor had seen, probably because she had kept playing with an injured and hurting shoulder for almost a year before she collapsed in the middle of a university game. The team had gone on to the national championship the week after she´d had surgery._

_She was told she could go back to playing some eight months later. She´d gone to rehab, the tissue was scarring. She was healed. She could go back… but if she did, she would tear her shoulder again after a few games. She´d need another surgery. She´d need to take another year off and she wasn’t guaranteed a full recovery for the second round. She could go back to playing even less perfectly than before._

_She hadn’t needed Alfred coming to visit her to know she couldn’t go back into the court._

_Her life blurred and dulled afterwards. She´d focused on school. She´d pursued a degree beyond her bachelor. She´d graduated, gotten a job and gotten on with her life. She was darn good at her job. After all, this was what she had now. She had mastered volleyball when she could. Now she had another area to master._

_She hadn’t counted on it being so boring._

_Rushing into the dance studio across from the train station she walked past every day had been a sudden and impulsive decision. When she exited the station in the mornings, the place was closed. There was nothing to notice. When she walked into the station after leaving the office, the studio was open, lights blazed from every window, and some nights the music was too loud it carried through the street and into Jazz´s ears._

_The rainy night Jazz stopped with her umbrella right outside of the station, music had been blaring from the building. It was a sultry and fast-paced melody. She could see shadows inside. She could see people moving, running and bouncing around with what she suspected was the same freedom she used to feel when she played._

_Her boots squeaked as she closed her umbrella, dashed across the street and into the studio._

_She was heaving by the time she burst through the doors on the second floor. It was a good thing she expected her sudden entrance to attract attention because the second she burst in, there were gasps, a curse, and the music was turned off._

_Later, she would regret the scandal she ended up making and the people she ended up startling. In that moment, however, all she focused on was the people, the room, and the slim woman in a blue dress that fell on her ass when the man she was dancing with dropped her in surprise._

* * *

 

 

“Come on, let´s try and do the waltz next.”

“For heaven´s sake, Rachel. Can´t you give me another minute?”

“You’ve been sitting down for ten minutes already. Your muscles are going to cool down.”

“Need I remind you I was a professional athlete long before I started taking dancing classes? I know how long it takes for a body to cool down.”

“Then get up already, let´s keep going!”

Jazz at her feet, rolled one of her ankles. The heels were higher than the ones she´d been practicing with the past five months, but she´d adapted quite well to them. Her feet didn’t hurt yet. She was rolling her ankle in hopes Dixie would give her a pass.

Naturally, she didn’t.

“Get up,” Dixie repeated with a short laugh. She knelt down, wrapped her fingers around Jazz´s wrists. Jazz saw her brace her body on her own heels before pulling with much more strength than one would think Dixie had.

Jazz groaned, but she didn’t fight the tugging. Even if she had, she was pretty sure Dixie would have gotten her on her feet anyway. Dixie had a habit of moving and pushing metaphorical and physical mountains whenever she wanted, the way she wanted.

When it came to the metaphorical ones, Jazz understood. After all, the night she stumbled into the studio, Dixie had been the first one to move and to talk to her into staying that night and coming back the next week. She´d dragged herself up from the floor after her dancing partner dropped her and limped over to Jazz with a bright and welcoming smile. Classes had resumed normally. Dixie stayed with her while she offered several courses on ballroom dancing and asked what Jazz was interested in trying. Truth be told, until then, Jazz hadn’t ever felt an interest in dancing, and she´d told Dixie so. Dixie had looked perplexed, then confused, then the smile was back on her face. Her words had been soft and encouraging as she asked Jazz to stay for the rest of the lesson. If she liked it, she could come back. If she didn’t like it, Dixie was glad she´d at least tried. The gentleness and lack of stubbornness or greediness for another client – along with the impressive routines Jazz saw over the next hour – were the reasons she came back the following week.

It hadn’t been a premeditated decision. Jazz left the studio the first night thinking the people were nice and seeing others dancing was interesting. She hadn’t planned on coming back. However, she did end up returning, which was a surprise even for herself. Jazz didn’t understand how Dixie had seen it coming, but she had, given Dixie was there to greet her and show Jazz the other new student and new dancing partner. It was a good thing Roy was quite a decent and amicable guy instead of the arrogant jerk who attended classes to see who would hook up with him. Otherwise, Jazz would have probably already thrown him out the window. Pairing them up for dance classes had been a good move on Dixie´s parts. Almost too good. After Roy told her he´d come into the studio two days after her and Dixie had right away told him “there´s a new student coming this following week, and I´m sure the two of you will be a good match during classes!” Jazz had realized how dangerous Dixie was.

How Dixie moved men and women over two heads taller and at least fifty pounds heavier than her… Jazz still hadn’t figured that one out. No matter how many times the thin, five-foot-four woman pulled Jazz´s own five-eleven figure to her feet without even grunting, Jazz couldn’t understand.

As Dixie did it right then and held onto Jazz´s hand while she turned the stereo on, Jazz figured it had to do something with the slim muscles moving under the skin. The same muscles Dixie used to do those endless and graceful spins, the same muscles she used to sway and glide across the floor during classes, making it look effortless when it really wasn’t.

Dixie pushed a couple of buttons. The same melody came on for the umpteenth time. Dixie was fixated on Jazz perfecting the hip swings from the rumba before they danced the foxtrot one last time. The rumba was the only style Dixie said wasn’t ‘perfect’ yet.

Jazz groaned. “Again?” she protested.

“Again!” Dixie replied with a laugh. She turned around, positioned Jazz´s hands on her body. “You´ve almost got it. You only need to let go a bit more.”

“ _I am letting go_ ,” Jazz moaned, stared down at her dance partner.

“Not enough,” Dixie replied. “Come on, the competition is the day after tomorrow, you already have the other four styles in the bag. All you need is a bit more energy and looseness!”

“We can´t all be perfect dancers after only a few months,” Jazz pointed out. She would know. She and Roy had been trying and dancing to their very limits since they learned about the amateur competition after their first month taking classes. They had both tried. Jazz had poured all her effort and energy into dancing, and sure, she´d made awesome progress – according to Roy, the other students, Dixie and the other teacher – but she hadn’t reached perfection, and she knew it _was_ possible to be perfect. Dixie was the living example of the dumb ‘practice makes perfect’ saying, after all.

Dixie raised an eyebrow at her, then opened her mouth. Jazz raised a hand and pressed it gently against her cheek. “Don’t you dare tell me otherwise. You know better than anyone else how much effort and time it takes to become an excellent dancer.”

“But—”

“Sunshine, I´m not saying I suck. I´m not saying your private lessons haven´t helped me with the smallest details. In fact, they will most likely get Roy and myself at least a second place award. I´m thankful for your help and the time you´ve given me since I stormed in here. What I´m saying is, please don’t lie to me and feed me unreal expectations, and don´t dismiss your own hard work like this. How long have you been dancing? Since you were two, you said?”

“Yes.”

“And you´re twenty-eight now. That´s twenty-five years of hard work and passion poured into dancing. No matter how good you say I am, six months of classes can´t quite compare to the level of perfection you’ve achieved.”

Dixie´s expression turned sad. She moved her hands to Jazz´s arm, rubbed up and down in the soft way she had. “I´ve told you before. I´m not perfect, and you have a really big issue with the word itself.”

Jazz snorted. She placed her other palm against Dixie´s other cheek, cupped her face for a few seconds, stared straight into her clear blue eyes. “Yeah, maybe I do.”

“And you won´t tell me why,” Dixie protested, placing her hands on top of Jazz´s. She leaned into the touch, let out a soft sigh.

“Hadn´t we agreed the questions would wait until our… dates?” Jazz asked. She wasn’t sure if ‘date’ was the correct word. They had started going to the little diner down the street after every class after a bit over a month sine Jazz started her lessons.

They used to go for a cup of coffee and a little piece of cake or a cookie. Since Dixie asked Jazz to stay for extra practice time, they´d been having a more formal meal. It had started as Dixie offering Jazz a warm drink and a chance to get to know the area around the building and station. It had ended up turning into a newly-formed habit that involved delicious food and conversations ranging from the mysterious stain on the studio´s bathroom floor to Jazz giving her in-depth reviews about the latest books or movies she´d read.

Dixie was a good listener. She was also someone who knew how to keep the conversation going and who respected boundaries. Jazz was not fond of sharing her life with most people, much less details about sports career and injury. Dixie wasn’t an open book when it came to her life before she moved to Gotham either. They had managed to work out a little deal. When it came to the hard stuff, they´d ask each other only two or three difficult questions during every date. Dixie respected this, and didn’t mind that while she elaborated her answers, Jazz usually gave clipped but substantial replies. She made Jazz feel comfortable. She brought recklessness and spontaneity into the boring mess Jazz had allowed her life to turn into.

Dixie hummed. “We did, but it doesn’t mean I like waiting until I get my chance to interrogate you,” she said. She pulled back and positioned their hands again. She seemed to focus on the background melody for a few seconds, then she was moving, feet seeming to barely touch the floor, hips and shoulders swaying with practiced ease.

Jazz followed Dixie´s sultry movements, tried to recreate them in her own way. She had already come to terms with the fact she couldn’t replicate Dixie´s form and style _yet_. One day though, if she decided to formally take up ballroom dancing, she hoped she would. She hoped Dixie would look at her with the same enthrallment with which she had looked at Dixie the first time she saw her dance.

Their heels clicked against the floor as they moved across the room. Jazz moved her shoulders, planted her feet firmly, kept the lines of her body firm yet feminine. Jazz moved her hand from Dixie´s shoulder and they parted, took several steps to the side, hands outstretched, before Dixie turned. Their hands settled on each other´s bodies once more. Their feet moved in synchrony as they did the cucarachas. Dixie glanced down at their legs and chuckled.

“Something funny?” Jazz asked as the fan left her in position to do the alemana.

Dixie´s eyes twinkled with what could be called sheer pride and excitement. She waited until Jazz was in front of her and they´d settled back into the basic step before talking. “Nothing,” she said. “It´s just… it´s so much fun to dance with you, and you´re so good, Jazz. Your lines are beautiful, every step you take is so elegant. You´re a natural at this.”

“So you keep saying, but if that were the case you wouldn’t be keeping me here an extra hour just so I learn how to shake my booty correctly.”

Dixie threw her head back and laughed. They separated again, and this time it was Jazz who turned. They did the basic step, then the New York, back to the basic. Dixie was still laughing.

“We´re talking about hip swaying, not twerking,” she said.

Jazz rolled her eyes. “Same thing,” she insisted, knowing full well they weren´t.

“Oh no, Ms. Todd. Not the same at all,” Dixie replied, tone vehement.

“Hmm? Care to show me?” Her tone came out both wry and calm, despite her heartbeat speeding up the second she talked. What was she doing?

Dixie tipped her head back to look into her eyes. She tilted her head. The song came to an end. Jazz started to pull away for the final pose, but Dixie kept her from doing it.

Jazz lowered her gaze, felt a shiver up her spine as she saw a small and dangerous smile appear on Dixie´s face.

“Are you willing to stay here another hour?” Dixie asked.

Jazz took a deep breath. “Maybe.”

“Then we´ll stay, we´ll get better music, and you´ll learn to twerk too.”

… _Interesting._  

“Teach me, oh sensei,” she said, felt a challenging smile form on her own lips.

 

* * *

 

 

They gave up on pretending they were being serious halfway into the not so elegant playlist Dixie had picked for their impromptu dancing session. For the first ten minutes it all went well. The music played, Dixie placed her hands on her hips and indicated step by step how she did it. Jazz was a good student for those ten minutes. After Jazz let out a snort and parodied the way she´d seen someone twerk on television, all bets were off. Dixie burst into laughter, turned up the volume, and if there was ever a dance-off to witness, it had to be that one.

Jazz felt light and more alive than ever as she set her water bottle next to her gym bag and laid out on the floor next to Dixie. She was sure they were both tomato red due to exercise and – hopefully – something more.

“I haven´t had so much fun in years,” Dixie said, reached out to hold Jazz´s hand in her own. Her gaze never left the ceiling. Her smile didn’t waver.

Jazz closed her eyes. She enjoyed the combined sound of their breathing and the warmth of their hands for a few seconds. Then, Dixie spoke. “I guess it´s a bit late for us to go have dinner now, huh?”

Jazz opened her eyes, brought up her wrist to check her watch, then glanced at her out of the corner of her eye. “Yeah, it´d be kind of rude if we stormed in right now and demand dinner. It´s closing time already, pretty much.”

Dixie sighed. She wiggled her hand free only to start rubbing circles over Jazz´s palm. “Does that mean we don’t get to ask each other deep personal questions we don’t really want to answer?”

Jazz fought the urge to roll her eyes. She ended up doing it anyway. She brought up her watch a second time, shrugged. “We can spare a few more minutes to grill each other here.”

“Excellent.” Dixie released her hand, propped herself up on one elbow and pushed stray hairs out of her face. “Can I start?”

“Like I have a choice.” Jazz grinned. “Shoot. What do you want to know?”

Dixie seized the opportunity, of course.

“Why are you so obsessed with perfection?” she asked. “It really isn’t the first time you´ve talked about it, or you´ve told me how I´m perfect but you aren’t.”

Jazz´s eyes returned to the ceiling. She stayed quiet for a good couple of minutes, then mirrored Dixie´s position.

I told you how I played volleyball for a good chunk of my life,” she started. Dixie nods. “And I´ve told you about the injury, how long it took me to see a doctor, how much it hurt when I fell on the fatidic game.”

“Yes… how you could go back to playing, but if you did it you would be signing your own doom.”

“I didn’t want to risk it. If the cuff teared again there would need to be another surgery, more rehab, and chances were I wouldn’t regain full mobility of my arm.”

“And there was no chance you were going to go uninjured?”

“Not for long. I pondered going back and enjoying a few more months and years.” Jazz shook her head. “It would have been an ‘enjoy now, suffer later’ thing. I figured my wellbeing was more important than a temporary enjoyment and a career I could start but would have to soon end.”

Dixie nodded, looked thoughtful. “Let me guess. You strived to be the most perfect player the team had? That your schools could ever find? You wanted to be flawless and awesome at what you did, you wanted to _own_ the game and be… the best? And then your life sort of came crashing down, and now that you´re thinking of taking up dancing permanently you have the same goal: to be the best at this”

“If you´re going to judge me I will get up and leave this place right now, Rachel.” It´s an empty threat. Almost.

Dixie threw her an incredulous look. “Judge you?” she echoed. “Jazz, why would I judge you when I do the same, when I… I understand. But of course I do. I know what… what everything feels like.”

“You haven´t had a career-destroying injury,” Jazz pointed out, then quickly added, “Not like I´d ever wish this on my worst enemy, much less you, lovely ballerina.”

“Ballerina is used only for—”

“Like you didn’t have a whole ballet career before you even heard of ballroom dancing.”

Dixie, grown woman that she was, pouted at her. Jazz raised both eyebrows. “Am I wrong?”

“… Ballet and break dance. Then ballroom.”

“Called it.” Jazz winked. Dixie groaned in outrage. They shared a soft laugh.

“Remember what I said earlier? Don´t dismiss all your hard work, and don´t lie to me either. I´ll get better, I always strive to be better, to practice until it´s as near perfection as possible. It isn’t possible to achieve a much higher level after only half a year,” Jazz said.

Dixie thought about it. Then she nodded. “I understand. It makes me wonder, though. Does this mean you see me as a rival? Someone you have to beat?”

“To be honest? I haven´t figured it out if you´re a friend or an enemy yet.” _I love watching you dance. I enjoy seeing you. I´m glad I can join you. I want you to feel the same things when you watch me dance too_.

Dixie sat up, closed the small distance between them and leaned down, resting one hand on Jazz´s shoulder.

“Do you think you´ll figure it out soon?” Dixie whispered.

“Don’t tell me you´re afraid I´ll dump the course?”

“A little bit, yeah.” Dixie brushed their noses together.

Jazz gave a lopsided smile. She craned her neck the tiny bit left, gently pressed her lips against Dixie´s.

Dixie´s breath ran out, and it didn’t take more than a couple heartbeats for Jazz to deepen the kiss, pulling back only when Dixie moaned.

“Want me to stop?” Jazz asked, got a snort in return.

“I _don’t_ want you to stop,” Dixie replied, pressed her palm against Jazz´s neck and kissed her again. Jazz got the feeling Dixie wasn’t just talking about not stopping the kiss.

“Don’t worry, pretty ballerina. I´ll be here for a while,” she assured her.

After all, and to say the least, she still had to hear about Dixie´s life before she´d come to Gotham.

**Author's Note:**

> I love genderbender, and I typically like to genderbend... everyone XD. With these two in specific, however, I´ve had some issues, but I´m working my way through them. This is sort of my way of saying, "hey, I think I´m getting better, I think I´m ready to genderbend these two again". 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
